


this is where you start to pull me in

by iridescentrey



Series: bright lights split the sky [1]
Category: American Horror Story, American Horror Story: Apocalypse
Genre: (a little), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Fingering, Blood Kink, Consensual Non-Consent, Cunnilingus, Dirty Talk, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Idiots in Love, Light Dom/sub, Michael is a little fucked up but we all love him, Outpost!Michael, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rape Roleplay, Vaginal Sex, and some things I probably missed, enjoy the filth, inappropriate use of magic, read the author's note for context and warnings, so in love it's disgusting, they pretend they're not soft but they are
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-05
Updated: 2019-01-05
Packaged: 2019-10-04 13:57:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17305874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iridescentrey/pseuds/iridescentrey
Summary: Her sleep is deep, serene, her chest rises and falls in a steady rhythm. He can almost feel the elusive impression of her dreams when his mind brushes against hers, barely a caress. There’s something else in there as well, gossamer-thin threads of a spell intertwined with her joints, carefully crafted, wrapped around her entire body like a cage.





	this is where you start to pull me in

**Author's Note:**

> **CONTEXT:** Basically, they’re alone at the Outpost 3 for some reason or another (probably stuck together), have been there for a while and got into some sort of relationship. And now they’re roleplaying an alternate scenario of her first night there, where he forces himself on her to punish her for the Coven trying to kill him. It was probably all talked out before and she knew it would happen at some point, but didn’t know exactly when.
> 
>  **WARNING:** As the tags say, this is a rape roleplay fic. What’s happening in the story is 100% consensual, but the situation and some wording that’s used here might still be triggering. Plus, there are some mild descriptions of (potential) gore. There's some blood, but nothing overly gore-y happens.
> 
> Proceed to the filth with caution.

Tip of a match strikes against the emery, the flame comes alive with a crackle. Soft and quiet, not nearly enough to rouse her. No, that wouldn’t be enough. She didn’t budge at the creak of the old wooden door, nor at the echo of Michael’s footsteps rambling against the stone walls of her bedroom. Her sleep is deep, serene, her chest rises and falls in a steady rhythm. He can almost feel the elusive impression of her dreams when his mind brushes against hers, barely a caress. That won’t wake her either. There’s something else in there as well, gossamer-thin threads of a spell intertwined with her joints, carefully crafted, wrapped around her entire body like a cage.  
  
With a single flick of his wrist, he could ignite every single candle at the Outpost. He won’t, not tonight. There’s no point in rushing. He lights up a single one on her nightstand, then another, just enough to illuminate her silhouette with dim, golden light. The flame almost licks at his fingertips, goes out before it reaches his skin.  
  
It almost seems she’s going to wake when he comes to rest at the edge of the bed, a slight shudder, a twitch of her head, tongue peeking out to wet her lips; she settles down with a deep sigh soon enough, oblivious to his presence. Hair fanned out on the pillow, one arm bent, the other resting on her belly; curves of her body wrapped in soft fabrics, lacy nightgown, grey sheets. Thin lips barely parted, eyelashes painting long shadows over the roundness of her cheeks. He wants to trace them, so he does. Just because he can. Backs of his fingers glide down her face, brush the corner of her mouth, her jawline. Ghost of a caress. It’s still difficult to believe she’s truly there, solid and real and his to touch. His hand settles on her throat, metal rings lie heavy against her skin; slow pulse beats beneath his fingertips. He could press down, make purple bruises bloom beneath his grip, listen to soft gasps as she fights for breath. She couldn’t claw at him, defend herself. Not now. She couldn't do a single thing. He could do it.

He won't.  
  
She’s soft and pliant underneath him as he leans in, thumb making slow circles on her larynx, the other arm resting next to her head. His fingers just barely card through her sleep-mussed hair, still just the tiniest bit damp from the shower. She smells of warmth and everything he’s never going to be and he _needs_ , to bury himself in her, to drown. Her breath is sweet in his lungs, a faint remainder of smoke still lingers in the air; the scents fuse together. He needs her and he needs her awake, with eyes boring into his, taking in all of his hunger and greed and everything he’s ever been guilty of. Everything he'll ever be.  
  
He leans down, just a little bit more, just enough for his mouth to press against her cheek. Her name rolls off of his tongue with ease, like he's already spoken it millions of times, in every cadence that exists, with every intention. He whispers it with each languid kiss he leaves on her skin. “Mallory.” Cheeks, eyelids, forehead. “Come on, wake up.” Bridge of her nose, corners of her mouth. Not further, not yet.  
  
She rouses with a quiet hum, slow, so slow. Doesn't try to move yet, doesn't realize anything is wrong. Still lost in remnants of a dream. She does that, his Mallory. Almost falls back in, almost, but just then, he presses his palm down. Just heavy enough to ground her, keep her with him. “Wouldn't want you to sleep through all of the fun, would we?”  
  
Her eyes snap open, unfocused and glazed, still blinded by sleep. Pulse accelerates beneath his fingertips, breath quickens. All of that before she manages to blink away the confusion, before she fully understands what’s happening. Body reacting well on its own, sensing danger. A little bit too late. Nothing left to be done now. She tries to stir but it’s all for naught, her muscles tense but he knows well they won’t listen to her pleading. To do something, anything, to free herself from underneath his mass. She can’t do much but gasp, fingers twitching, gaze shooting around the room in a panic.  
  
“Shh.” His hand slides down onto her chest, her heart a wild drum, untamed. “None of that.” Only then her eyes settle on him, a shaky breath leaves her lungs. He reaches towards her mind again, not forceful enough to alarm her, prodding for any signs of discomfort. Underneath a healthy dose of shock, he finds none.  
  
“No need to struggle, you’ll only exhaust yourself.” Their eye contact breaks as he sits back, she points her gaze anywhere but at him. The marble walls, ceiling, feeble flames of two candles burning to her left. They’ll need more. He wants to see her properly. Still, she keeps fighting; her attempts ending in nothing more than faint movements and muffled sounds of protest. “Try all you want,” he says and brushes his fingers over the sheet, looking for the matchbox he’d dropped, forgotten. “This spell is too strong for anything your Supreme might’ve taught you.” She is strong enough to do it, he knows. But right now that detail is immaterial.  
  
He rises up and approaches another candle holder. They have all the time in the world. “I’ve been thinking about leaving you a little bit of control. Letting you fight me.” Scream until her throat is raw with it, kick and claw at him until his entire body is a masterpiece of bruises and wounds, all painted by her. Hers painted by him. She’d draw blood and steal his breath and they'd pretend to defy one another, to hate as fiercely as they once did. “But then it occurred to me that you actually could stop me. And we can’t have that,” he says and lights up a match. “Can we?”  
  
He only lights up a few at a time, more and more candles burn bright in the space of her bedroom. “You aren’t actually surprised that this is where we’ve ended up, are you?” Used matches fall to the floor. He’ll worry about them later. “Your defenses were a child’s play to get through. Almost like you didn’t even try.” There’s a playful note in his voice and he knows she didn’t, not really. She could fight him if she truly meant to, he’s seen her do it. “Similar to when you and your little band of fools tried to kill me. Had you tried harder, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.” Dozens of flames dance around them now, their mirror images scintillate in every reflective surface. Polished surfaces of furniture, the jewelry she’d left on the nightstand, her chocolate brown eyes. Step by step, he walks closer, towering over her, like the first time they’d talked.  
  
“You and I both know I can’t let that slide.” Just like then, she’s avoiding his gaze. Tries to turn away when he drops the matchbox onto the nightstand and sits down next to her. “Your sisters might not be here, but I’m sure you’d gladly take their blame,” he says, voice low and rough. He tries so hard to keep it steady. “Like a good little martyr you are.”  
  
Her eyes are already shut tight when he lunges forward and forces her head away from him. “What do you think I should do to you, huh?” His whisper seeps right into her ear and she mewls, his hand wanders back onto her sternum. Breaths quick and short, they get quicker when he jabs his nails into her silk-covered skin. It’s intoxicating. His own heart is pounding too, loud and deafening in his head, chest, right underneath his skin.

“I could dig my hand right into your guts and rip your heart out. Watch you squeal like a slaughtered pig.” His lips brush against the cartilage of her ear as he speaks, nose buried in her dark blond hair. Even the deepest lungful is too shallow, not enough. He forces himself to keep speaking. “I'd keep you awake and aware through all of it. Feeling every single fucking thing.” Words roll slowly off of his tongue, unhurried; he tastes each one, savors it. “And then I’d heal you and do it all over again.”

He rests his forehead against her hairline. Would she let him do it if he took away the pain? Would she let him hold her heart while it’s still inside her, feel its every tremor? He’d cradle her close, drink in all the unsure little sounds she would make. Kiss away her tears and hush her until she bled out in his arms, until her heart gave out the last weak beat and stilled in his grasp. He’d hold her until she came back to life, both of them drenched in red, trembling. He’d let her do the same to him if she asked.  
  
With a deep breath, he steadies himself. This is the effect she has on him, he falls to pieces, they both do. Their limits blend, become nonexistent. It’s always been so easy to keep this mask on, simple as breathing. Not with her. Tightness in his pants becomes more and more apparent as he shifts and pulls away, hand coming to rest on her cheek. It’s wet with tears.

“Hey,” he whispers and turns her face back to him. “Shh. I won’t do that.” She has to know that. He’d never do any of it, not without her squirming at a mere thought, begging him in a hushed voice. Just like she did for this little act. “I have a better idea.” He holds her for a moment, lips pressed to the corner of her eye. Saltiness explodes on his tongue. It gets easier to keep it together, but only marginally. “You know what I’m going to do instead?” He used to keep this facade up for weeks, months at a time. Like a second skin, it never cracked. Not for a moment. It feels brittle now, with her underneath him. He smirks against her skin. “I’m going to fuck you.” His fingers brush through her hair, keeping her still through the sharp intake of breath. “And I’m going to do it whether you like it or not. It’s your choice if you want to fight me.”  
  
He pulls away. “Do you know you’ve been driving me crazy? From the very beginning. From the moment you interrupted my speech.” His hand glides down her form, over her palm, down to the sheet bunched up at the level of her hips. “Everyone else was yapping at my feet like a pack of starved dogs. Begging for attention. Practically killing one another over a mere chance to please me. To survive.” He grabs it and pulls it down, off of her silhouette, off of the bed. “Everyone except you. I offered you everything on a silver platter and you ran.” Her toes twitch as she attempts to move them, still when he lays his hand on her ankle. “Is this really all it took to drive me mad? A little defiance?” He looks up at her. Cheeks and chest flushed, eyes glossy, tear tracks drying on her temples. If she could, she would beg. Soft, shy. Wanting so much, but scared of saying the words. She’d want him to trail his fingers up, up onto the delicate skin behind her knee, further. She wouldn’t say. She'd sooner grab his palm and place it right where she needed it. He chuckles, takes his hand away.  
  
“Just imagine what each and every single one of them would give,” he says, hands moving towards the neckline of her sleeping gown, “to be here instead of you.” No, that won’t do. Her hand falls to her side as he grips the fabric and pulls. Fibers of silk and lace come apart in his hands, reveal her to his eyes. Milky planes of her stomach, the soft curve of her hips and thighs, small, supple breasts. Warm skin meets the chill of the air, covers with goosebumps. Unblemished, perfect. He wants to see it ruined, dig his nails in, his teeth, gnaw at her until she bleeds. His palms roam the skin of her stomach, reverent; cold metal of his rings catches on her hip bones, ribs, one by one. Her breasts. His thumb brushes the underside of her nipple and before he can think, he leans forward and latches onto it with his mouth.

A quiet, choked sound rips out of her, but he doesn’t let go. He gets lost in it all, her sighs, the taste of her skin, of copper. He must’ve bitten too hard, broken through the tissue. There’s a droplet of blood on the hardened bud when he pulls away, smeared, diluted. He’s gentler when he dives back in, soothing her with his tongue as his hand wanders up and down her side. It’s strange, not having her fingers tugging at his hair, not quite sure whether to push him away or pull him closer. No choice like that to make now.  
  
“Tell me something, Mallory,” he whispers, lips brushing against the tender flesh. He moves up her body, leaves more marks on his way; top of her breast, collarbone. She whimpers so beautifully when he bites the junction of her shoulder and neck, drags his nails over the mosaic of bruises. Her pupils are blown wide, mouth thinly parted and trembling; its skin feels chapped beneath the pad of his index finger.  
  
“Isn’t this so much easier? When you can't do a goddamn thing about any of it?” He slides it between her lips, wedges her teeth just open enough to reach her tongue and brush across it in a slow, soft caress. "When you have no choice but to let it happen?" Her eyes slip shut, a small crease appears between her eyebrows; she breathes deeply, just breathes. "You just have to take whatever I give you. In some ways, I think I'm doing you a favor." Poor thing, couldn’t even suck, not if her life depended on it. The corner of his mouth rises, he can’t help it. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” He pulls it out of her, along with a soft whimper. “Of course you are.” Rosiness of her lips shines with spit after he traces them. “Are you wet for me?” He asks after a brief pause.

Breath catches in her throat as his hand drops lower, slides down the side of her hip and stops on her inner thigh. His thumb moves up and down, ever so slowly, barely grazing her clothed sex. “It’s okay if you aren't yet. I don't mind.” He’s propped up on his arm. His face hovers barely an inch above hers, noses brushing; her erratic gasps feel warm on the damp skin of his lips. “I’ll just use my mouth on you-” He moves his hand up and places it on her, just resting; warmth seeps through the thin layer of fabric. “-until you’re wet enough for me to slip right in. Even if it’s just on my spit.” He presses down, right where her entrance should be and she mewls, head twitching. She can’t turn towards him, nuzzle into his cheek. She can’t beg. He keeps his mind at just the right distance from hers, enough to pick up on general impressions. Not direct thoughts.  
  
He presses a kiss down to her cheek, right next to her nose. Another one, a little bit lower. Enough to drive her insane with powerlessness. “Why don’t we check, huh?” Another one to the corner of her mouth. “Right-” His fingers slide up. And back down, beneath the edge of her underwear. “-there.” It’s almost too much. The sounds she makes when he touches her, high-pitched and drawn-out, tears glistening in her eyes. He wants to wipe them away; he wants more of them to come.

She tries to speak, her mouth pressing together and opening in a breathy, vague representation of the first syllable of his name. He watches her struggle, doesn’t stop his fingers. Slides them down through her soft, trimmed curls, down to the slippery seam her lips. He doesn’t even need to part them to feel it. “Look at you,” he whispers, “you’re soaked.” She’s burning hot against his skin and so, so pliable. It would be the simplest thing to press inside, no resistance. But no. Not yet.  
  
He pulls his hand out, digits already coated in her wetness. Brings it up to her face, her mouth, paints it with her spent; it’s still shiny with spit, just a little. “See?” She must be able to smell herself now. Suffocating, musky. It makes his head spin. It’ll be so much stronger when he finally bares her completely, settles between her thighs, tastes her. She watches him intently, eyes half-lidded, as he crams his fingers into his mouth and sucks them clean, one by one. Drawing it out, enjoying the taste. And then, he bends down to kiss her.

She can’t kiss him back, not really. She’s slack beneath him, but he doesn’t mind. He drinks in every muffled moan, every silent plea. Thumb on her chin, he parts her mouth and deepens the kiss, brushes his tongue against her lax one. Makes her taste it, too.  
  
“I should’ve done this sooner,” he mutters, still pressed against her. He’s supposed to be the one in control here, why does he feel so helpless? Here, behind a sheer curtain of his hair, in half shade, in the stale air of the Outpost, they’re the only two people in the world. The only two that matter. And after all, he’s got no control at all. It’s all her. Whatever she asked of him, he’d do it. “I should never have let you leave my office.” He sighs. “I should’ve convinced you to stand by me, then.”

Another kiss, unhurried. He nibbles on her upper lip, soothes it with his tongue. Looks into her eyes, her lashes flutter like humming-bird’s wings. “I should’ve fucked you right there against my desk.” Kisses her eyelids, nose, and again, lips. Barely a peck. “Or somewhere against the wall, where everyone could see you squirm for me.” He smiles. “They'd see exactly who you belong to.”

She’s splayed below him, bare but for a ripped piece of fabric and drenched, black lace of her underwear. So open and pliant, trusting. She trusts him. Maybe she shouldn’t, but she does, and nothing will ever be enough to thank her for it. The words linger at the tip of his tongue but he doesn’t say them. Not now. “I think I’ll keep you,” he whispers instead, and with the last peck to her lips, he sits up and reaches for the buttons of his shirt.  
  
She immediately averts her eyes. “Oh, come,” he chuckles, “no need to be shy now. You can look all you want.” He unbuttons it and it’s too slow, too difficult not to rip apart, just like he did with her nightgown. He gets up for a moment, long enough to unzip his pants and reach down to free his erection from the tight confines of his underwear. A sigh of relief escapes his mouth as it springs free; he pulls his boxers shorts down to mid-thigh and settles back on the bed.

Mallory’s eyes are shut tight and he can’t hold back a chuckle. “Don’t be silly. It’ll be inside you soon enough, there’s no reason you can’t look.” Her eyelids wrinkle when he turns her head to the side. He could force her to look, pry her eyes open, or use a spell. He won’t. He waits a long moment, waits for her to give in, but she persists. “Alright. You don’t have to _look_.”  
  
Her arm still rests bent next to her head. Gently, careful not to hurt her elbow, he brings her hand lower, soft inside of her palm open towards his face. And spits on it. When it meets her skin, her eyes flutter open cautiously and immediately shut back down. Her fingers tremble, but she won’t be able to pull her hand away. Not when he slowly brings it lower. Not when he wraps it around his cock, his much bigger hand on the top of hers. He gasps, his own eyes drift closed as he moves her palm up and down, cool spit and droplets of precum spreading along his length, all the way from the base to the sensitive, bloodshot tip. “Feel that? Feel what you’re doing to me?”  
  
He stills after a moment and loosens her grip on him. It’s too much, it’s been too much for some time now, and the soft brush of her palm is more than enough to almost bring him to the edge. He tries to collect himself, but every deep breath only fills his lungs with more of her, the lingering perfume of her shampoo, the scent of her skin, of her arousal. That by itself is enough to drive him crazy with need, this violent hunger that made its home in his chest, his stomach. It hasn’t been there before, not before her. It hums and buzzes between his ribs, eats away at the air he breathes, sigh by sigh. Is it the same for her?  
  
His hands tremble as he drops her wrist on his lap and reaches for her underwear, hooks his fingers behind the elastic and pulls it down her legs, her wetness clinging to the fabric. The rest of his clothes go quick, shoes, pants and boxers, shirt that’s been left unbuttoned, his rings. It’s easy to spread her thighs apart, bend her knees and make just enough space for him to fit. So pliant. Easy to lean and rest his forehead against the shuddering muscles of her abdomen.

The smell is so much stronger here, making him more restless with every lungful. She quivers when his breath meets puffy, soaked skin of her cunt. Quivers when he drags his index and middle finger against her outer lips, presses down and rests them on both sides of her clit. Just rests, absorbs the maddening warmth she emanates. Then removes his hand and brings it back down, hard. Her hips jerk at the impact, a muffled whine escapes her mouth. He immediately brings his own to the reddened skin, hushes her, soothes with soft kisses. Gentle licks, long, languid caresses. To her entrance, delicate lobes of her inner labia, tender skin around her clit. He spreads her open, suckles and nibbles on the swollen flesh, dusty pink and glistening and so perfect in his mouth. It’s not enough, it’s nowhere near enough.

He could stay here for hours, caged between her soft thighs, arms wound around them, holding her open for him. Listen to her whimper at every caress of his tongue. Ground her through every tremor, through each cut-off, failed movement of her hips. She’s close, so extremely close. She cries out when he latches onto the small nub, sucks it into his mouth, hums around it. Her stomach goes taut at a slow, steady circle he draws with the tip of his tongue-

Abruptly, he pulls away.  
  
“No, no no, not yet.” Her choked, high-pitched moan breaks his heart and he wants to dive back in with his mouth, his fingers, bring her over the edge and give her relief. But he’ll be damned if the alternative doesn’t look even sweeter. “Breathe for me,” he says and blows steadily on her trembling core. “Just breathe.” He pulls her away from the edge, palm stroking the lower part of her inner thigh. “That’s it. Try to relax.” She makes that noise again, the distorted beginning of his name. He laughs. “You'll be able to come when I'm inside you, don’t worry. But not just yet.”  
  


He reaches to drag his fingers down the lips of her cunt, sensitive, barely recovered. She’s absolutely drenched now, the wetness painting her from thigh to thigh, dripping down to her buttocks, to the pucker of her ass. Soft and open before him, begging for touch, for anything. He traces the opening of her pussy with a tip of his finger and breaches her, slowly, only to the first knuckle. She gasps and immediately tenses up, stubbornly making it difficult. "Shh. What did I say about fighting?" Her noises of protest dissolve into another moan when his mouth closes around her clit, the other arm keeping her hips still through unrelenting caresses. She has no choice but to relax around the intrusion, focus on nothing else aside the warmth of his mouth and the slow, steady movement of his tongue against the underside of her sensitive bud. He slides the digit in ever so slowly while she's distracted, slow but unforgiving. To the second knuckle, to the hilt. She's almost there again when he pushes in completely. Her hips budge in a failed attempt to chase his mouth as he pulls away. 

"Now, that wasn't difficult, was it?" He caresses her stomach in leisurely circles, lets her twitch, clench around his finger, try to chase her orgasm. "There, just breathe through it." He keeps still, just long enough for her to get away from the edge, not enough to come down completely. Her breath still shudders when he pulls out, drags slowly against the soft, spongy tissue of her front wall. "Easy." Second finger joins the first one, already buried to the hilt in her pliant body before she realises what's going on and manages to tense up. "There, shh. You're doing so well." It's so easy to slide through her wetness, in and out, each drag caressing that spot deep inside her. Never staying quite long enough to satisfy her. It doesn't take long for her breath to start catching yet again. He pushes inside one last time, pulls out and-

Strikes her again, palm open; wet flesh makes a smacking noise on the impact. Her hips cant and she mewls but he doesn't lift his hand, hushes her, caresses her with gentle, circular movements. “Breathe, darling,” he says. Grounds her through every labored breath she takes, through every sob ripping out of her mouth. Her muscles contract with every fleeting graze of his skin against her clit, her entire body shakes with a force of denied release. It takes much longer for her to calm down this time, to let herself get lost in slow strokes of one of his palms against her stomach, her breasts, her shoulders; to forget, at least partially, about the heaviness of his other palm, still resting on her soaked cunt, ready to deny her relief yet again. She whines softly when he finally moves it, gasps when he drags his glistening thumb past her entrance and down between her cheeks; the ring of muscle tenses up under his touch. He smirks, doesn’t stop circling it, leisurely but unrelenting.

“Maybe next time I could fuck you right here, what do you think?” She cries out softly when he pushes in, just a tip. It slips in easily, coated in her wetness. Even through the resistance. Still, she's trying her best to fight him, even through her exhaustion. “Relax,” he whispers, his other arm gently petting her thigh, hip, stomach; he caresses her until she does, until he can slide deeper. And just rest there. “Shh, this isn’t so bad, now, is it?” The warmth is maddening, just like the one of her cunt. “I’d stretch you with my fingers,” he says, places soothing kisses on her thigh, pushes deeper. “Make you loose enough to take my cock.” He can feel her clench around his thumb, muscles trying and failing to close around the intrusion. It must be sending little tremors of pain down her spine. And pleasure. “I know you could do it.” He pulls it out, rests it against the pucker. “But not tonight.”  
  
With one last kiss to her core, a little bit longer than he meant, he sits up. Grey fabric of the sheet scratches his skin as he wipes off the moisture from his mouth and hands. Carefully, he crawls up her body, hitches her thighs up just a notch and settles between them. One of his arms slides beneath her pillowcase, beneath her neck, cradling her to him. Pressing as much of his skin to hers as he can; pressing their heartbeats together. He grunts into her cheek as his length drags through the warm wetness of her cunt. She gasps again, quiet and muffled, and he truly looks at her again.

She’s flushed and warm, so warm to touch, with minuscule droplets of moisture coating her lashes, wisps of hair falling onto her forehead. He brushes them off of her face, trails his fingers down her temple and the side of her cheek. Eyes half-lidded and blissed out, out of focus. Lost. Somehow also rapturous, right beneath the surface. Briefly meeting his gaze, wandering off. She blinks once, slowly. A lone tear leaves the outer corner of her eye.  
  
“I know, darling.” She’s at the brink, almost bursting at the seams. Unable to beg, unable to scream. Not even to call his name. “I know you’re scared,” he whispers. “And I know how much you need it.” He could keep her like that for hours, tease her and bring her to the edge over and over again. How much could she take? How long before she crumbled? How long before he did? Maybe she sees it in his eyes, smug complacency; maybe she senses something. She whines softly, her eyes once more meeting his. He could spend hours bringing her to the brink of insanity but he’s so, so close. He needs her, just as much as she needs him.

“Shh, I’ll give you my cock.” A sharp intake of breath, her eyes drift closed, brows furrowing slightly. “But you have to look at me.” She shuts them tighter, testing him; checking how far he’ll go to bring her out to him. “I won’t fuck you until you do,” he says, voice gravelly. His palm rests on her cheek, pressing her to his face. “I won’t let you come. Not today, not the next time, not the next. And I’ll have you like this every single night. Maybe even during the day if I please. Teasing you, hours at a time.” Her breath hitches. His cock pulsates against her heat, thick and heavy, making it real. “Look at me, Mallory.”  
  
It takes a long moment, a couple of drawn-out breaths, but she does. As if she was gathering her courage. Her gaze shifts between his eyes, doesn’t falter. “That’s it. Good girl.” He rests his weight on one arm, the other reaches down to grip his cock; dragging the head up her lips, over her swollen clit, down to her entrance. She twitches in his arms, her stare restless yet again.

“Come on, none of that. No fighting. I'll slip right in if you relax, you'll see.” The blunt tip rests against her opening, barely pressing. She whines at the sensation, protesting. “Just look into my eyes,” he whispers, rests his forehead against hers. “And let me in.” He presses forward, the head slides into her scorching tightness with no resistance. She yelps softly, clenches around the intrusion, her tight walls contracting, holding him in a perfect grip. “Shh.” Her eyelids flutter and she tries to turn but he holds her tight, palm coming back up to her cheek. “That’s it, just keep looking at me. Stop fighting it.”

His gaze bores into hers as he pushes his hips down and glides into her, slow, unrelenting. “Just feel it. Let it take you.” She makes quiet sounds with every inch that disappears into her, but he doesn’t stop, not for what feels like forever. “That’s it.” Not until all of his length has been swallowed down by her fiery heat. “That’s it, you're doing so well,” he grunts through his own moans and shifts slightly, changes the angle until he can grind his hips into hers. “There. I’m inside you.” Small circles, barely any movement. “All the way in.” Almost too much. Not enough. Her walls contract around his girth, clench and unclench and with every spasm of her muscles she gives out a soft whimper. “And what was all the fuss about?”  
  
With every single move, the slightest drag against her walls, it seems like he’s going to lose it. Faint, just from the sheer intensity of it all. He slides out, nothing but the very tip pressing inside her, a curse on his lips, another whimper on hers. “I know, I’m sorry. But I can’t come before you do, can I?” Cool air wraps around his scorched length and it’s better, but only marginally. “And you will come around me, I know you will.” Mallory looks even more distraught, more tears welling up in her eyes, lips trembling with every shaky breath she draws.

“You won't be able to fight it. I won't even have to force it out of you. I know how close you are.” He drags the tip up the seam of her cunt again, up around her clit, back down. A faint trail of precum paints her folds; the sight leaves him lightheaded. “I know you hate feeling empty like this.” He presses the head of his cock back in and it’s even easier this time; moves up to cradle her in both of his arms and slides back in in one fluid, prolonged movement. Drags out and pushes in right away, tries to stay still for just a second but it’s so, so difficult.  
  
“Isn’t this just so much better? Being filled up?” He grunts against her parted mouth, pulls her closer as he fucks in and out of her. “It is, isn’t it? Look at me,” he asks, voice shaky. She complies, choked moans spilling out of her mouth with every delicious slide of his cock against her inner walls. “You love it, don’t you?” He slows down, drags himself out and pushes back in, inch by inch. She keens, as if trying to deny it, but he knows. “You do, look at you.” Another slow drag, out and in. “You love having me fuck you like this.”

She’d long ago stopped trying to quiet all the noises that rip out of her. She couldn’t, even if she tried. His hips snap, balls slapping against her soaked ass and he can’t keep it slow, he can barely move at all, keep himself upright. He fucks her in quick, jerky movements, somehow still keeping it together, somehow not tumbling over the edge. Her breaths are erratic, shallow and tremulous, tears freely flowing from her eyes. “What would your sisters say if they could see you right now, huh?” Every word breathy, half-gasp, half-moan. “Brought to such a state by their greatest enemy?”

He tilts her hips to adjust the angle he penetrates her at, his pelvis slaps time and time again into her soaked cunt, both of them dripping wet. “Falling apart on his cock.” She positively whines at the change, her spine tensing. “Fucked out beyond any coherent thought.” He holds her down, close to the bed as he pounds into her, barely moving out, just snapping his hips. She swallows the air in deep gulps. “Come on. I’ve got you.” Barely breathes any out. “Just let that happen.” She’s gone, more out of it than he’s ever seen her. “Let go for me,” he whispers. “Let it come.” And she does.  
  
A violent spasm jerks her entire body and she’s already there, shaking as he tugs on her hair and brings their mouths together, graceless and uncoordinated and she’s moaning against his lips; wrapping her arms around him in a vice-like grip, nails digging into his skin. Her orgasm shakes her from the tip of her head down to her toes, brilliant walls of her cunt clench around him and she’s helpless, thrusting against him clumsily, meeting every movement of his hips. Almost pulling him in. Her nails dig deeper, break the skin and tear it as she drags them to the sides, and at the same time she whimpers out his name. And that’s enough.

With a sharp snap of his hips he tumbles over the edge, vision turning into white as he falls apart inside her, filling her with surge after surge of hot come; face pressed into the warm crook of her neck, hands gripping on whatever is the closest, her locks, the pillow. Another snap, deep groan and he’s lost, empty; she’s taken it all, she always does. He trembles and twitches inside her but her arms are around him, to ground him, hold him down through the aftershocks. He’s gone rigid above her before but now he relaxes, muscles going limp; every deep breath, every muffled pant they share brings him down, back to reality.

Her fingernails graze over the skin of his back, irritate the wounds she’s made just moments before and he moans quietly, hips canting, but he’s already softening inside her. She barely moves aside from that, now that she can, one leg hitched above the back of his thigh and the other resting limp by her side. He pulls himself up a little bit, enough to face her. She’s still dazed, covered in a thin layer of perspiration; features slack and eyes closed, not reacting to barely-there kisses he plants all over her face. The corner of his mouth curls up.

“Aren’t you going to strangle me for what I did?” He asks, facetious. All she does is sigh. A hum she makes is so faint he can barely hear it. A gentle caress to the back of his neck, a jolt of pleasure shoots down his spine. He never wants her to stop. Wants her to soothe him, to make it hurt again. He reaches back, brings one of her hands between them, to his face. Fresh blood burns crimson on her fingertips; a copper tang explodes on his tongue as he closes his mouth around them and sucks them clean, slowly. “Mallory.” He kisses her again, the gentles touch and slide of his tongue. Only then her eyelids flutter open.

“Did I break you?” Right against her lips. The corner of her mouth rises, he traces it with his knuckles. She’s the most beautiful like that, reddened eyes and swollen lips, not knowing up from down. But then again, she’s always beautiful to him. Another deep, slow kiss.

“If I say yes,” she whispers against his mouth, voice hoarse, “it might go to your head.” He chuckles and it’s so sincere, so easy with her. Something akin to joy blossoms in his chest and the words weigh on his tongue, in his mind.

“Maybe a little,” he says instead and pushes his weight up and off of her.

Her hands brush along his arms as he moves away. “Don’t go,” she says, weak and frail; gasps as he slips out of her with a sigh.

He settles upright between her spread legs, palms resting on her pelvis. “I’m not. I’m here.” Petting up and down her flanks, down to her inner thighs. White beads of come trickle out of her opening with every weak tremor and he can’t help but move to scoop them up with his thumb, push them back inside.

She hisses as the digit lodges inside her, her hands come down to grasp his wrist. “What-”

“There. Right where it belongs.”

She takes her lower lip between her teeth. “It’s sensitive,” she claims, but she does nothing to push his hand away. Only pulls it closer.

“I know.” He presses in deeper. “Are you sure you don’t have one more in you?” Underside of his index finger presses against the swollen, tender bud of her clit. Another brush.

“No,” she chokes out. “Too much.” He pulls out of her gently, drags the backs of his fingers through their mixed spent, more of his come leaking out of her. “Michael-”

He mutters an apology and shoves them into his mouth, savoring their joint taste. Hums as he sucks them clean, one by one. Her cunt tempts him to latch his mouth onto it again, lap at their come until she's clean, too tender for any kind of touch, too fucked out to speak, to think.

“Don’t get any ideas,” she says with a smile. “Come here.” A soft plea, her arms reach out for him. He wants to drink it from her lips, kiss her until she needs him again, or until exhaustion wins over both of them and they drift off.

“Me? Ideas? Never.” One drawn-out press of their mouths and he settles on her chest, lets their legs tangle, lets his limp cock press against her outer thigh. Her fingers weave through his locks, gently scratch at the skin of his scalp.

They drift, listening to each other’s breathing.

“You could do what you talked about,” she murmurs after a long while, her voice almost inaudible. “Time after next.” There she is again.

He huffs. “I talked about a lot of things.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Maybe.” He smirks against her sternum. “But you can use your words.” She sighs and he almost laughs, can practically see her roll her eyes, cheeks blossoming with blush yet again. Still so embarrassed, even after all the things they’ve done. But then again, she’s never been a woman of many words.

“You could-”

He props himself up on his elbows and he was right, she’s flushed, thin lips pressed together. “Hmm?”

A pause. “You’re insufferable.”

“Don’t act like this is news to you,” he says with a quiet chuckle. “I could what?”

Her eyes wander up, tongue slips out to wet her lips. They open for a brief moment, then close again. And then she throws out, quiet and unsure, “Fuck my ass. When I’m like this.” There. She looks back to him, bashful.

“I could.” He smirks. “Why time after next, though?”

“Because next time someone else might be getting teased to death.”

He shudders at the thought, at all the possibilities. “Literally, I hope.”

The corners of her mouth curl up and she brings his head back down to her chest, her small hands leaving tender caresses on his shoulders, neck, jawbone, thumb moving back and forth over his larynx. “I’ll see what I can do.” His eyes drop shut and he nestles closer, nuzzles her throat, the dip of her collarbone. Lets the steady rise and fall of her chest carry him away. Exhaustion eats away at him and it’s easy, so easy to let his thoughts go. It’s only at a gentle press of her lips against the top of his head that his eyes flutter open again, just for a moment.

“You can use your words, too, you know.” Her voice is hushed, much quieter than anything she’s said before. For a brief moment, it eludes him and he opens his mouth to ask what she means- “You can say it out loud. If you want to.” She knows. Every thought he keeps away, every thought he guards. Her mind is a constant presence by his own, full of brightness, soothing and steady. Just like her arms around him. Of course, she would’ve known. He presses his eyes closed. He almost wants to joke, parrot the _You know what I mean_ back at her.

“I know,” he says instead.

She doesn’t pry, just pulls him closer, sighs into his hair and settles. A quiet murmur of a spell falls from her lips and all flames but one go out. It’s safer in the shadows, it’s always been. For him, at least. Safe against the soft skin of her throat, encircled by her arms, in the elusive place where dreams and wakefulness merge. She’s not asleep, not yet. Her thoughts are silent, passive. He could wait until she drifts off completely, whisper the words into her ear, knowing full well she won’t hear any of it. But some part of him wants her to. Maybe a bigger part than he cares to admit. “I love you.”

Her arms pull tighter around him and he can’t help but wait, even though he shouldn’t. She’s so much more patient than he’ll ever be, as much as he likes to pretend otherwise. He tries to settle, let the even rhythm of her breaths lull him to sleep, draw the comfort from the droplets of the feeling seeping into him and it’s almost enough. It is. Its image is clear and he knows, just like she’d known before. She does.

“I do.” She breathes into his hair. “I love you, too.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! As always, I'd love to hear what you think. [Come scream at me on tumblr if you liked it!](http://deanfinite.tumblr.com/)


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